The old world
by butterflymind
Summary: Post TAC, just one other way things could have changed.


The Old World

He had climbed to the summit of the last ridge before he even thought to pause for breath, his bag heavy against his back as he stared out across the grass to the copse of trees below. He was grateful now he had only packed one bag, selling everything else and giving away what he could not sell, his friends so ridiculously understanding of his need to get away that they had helped him as much as they could to pack light for this final journey. He started down the hill, stout walking boots pounding heavily against the earth as he walked, not caring about the noise in the grey light of the early dawn. He came to his destination just before the trees and dropped his rucksack to the ground, rolling his shoulders to remove the stiffness from them. Leaning on the headstone with his pack at his feet, the stone felt cool beneath his fingers and slightly damp from the morning dew. He traced the rough edges, not yet weathered smooth and then he knelt down, running his fingers across the letters, the sharp stabs of the feeling that it was all real. This is how she had wanted it, in the end. An empty coffin lay beneath his feet and the flowers on the grave had barely begun to wilt, he had known after the funeral he would have to move quickly but it wasn't any easier to look into the faces of people he had known for so long and see the pity there. At the service he had remembered suddenly that she believed in God, although the idea of her believing in a higher power seemed in its own way slightly ridiculous. It had been something they talked about so rarely, he had given up on God when he felt God had given up on him. But he listened to the service this time and when the part came about ashes to ashes his shoulders began to silently shake.

Now the sun was beginning to come up over the horizon, the light warm on his face as it dappled through the lower branches of the trees. He saw her as he had first seen her, with the light behind her hair forming a fuzzy halo around her face. She wasn't smiling, but if she had been it would have almost ruined the picture, the frown that fell somewhere between annoyance and amusement would be the last thing he would remember about her, he was sure. Unexpectedly, tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away, determined not to cry now, not after everything else.

"Well, are we going?" Her voice had a hint of softness, but only in the sense that chalk is softer than flint. She was treating this as if it were normal and he felt both annoyed and thankful for it.

"Yeah." He started to walk towards her, picking up his pack and shrugging it onto his shoulders.

When she had returned from the fire, so full of ideas to save her paper and her world, he had thought his heart would shatter even as it soared. He had known, for months before probably, that it could not carry on this way. She would destroy herself and take him with her if he wasn't careful. That night he had sat down with her and told her that. She had screamed at him, yelled, tried to leave and he had held on, terrified not so much that she would leave him, but that if she did he would have to follow. Finally she had cried, first on his bed then in his arms and he gently gave her the same ultimatum they always came down to. This time he kissed her before he said it and hoped she could make the right choice. She had looked up at him, eyes glassy from tears and asked him how he could ask her to fail at either of the two most important things to her. He knew there was no point arguing the concept of failure; instead he asked her which was more important not to fail. His heart leapt when he saw her rabbit in the headlights look, he was terrified of her next words but she never got far enough to speak. Instead she quieted down, wrapping herself more securely around him as if she suddenly needed an anchor. She was silent for a moment, regarding him with too bright eyes.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" She said finally and his grip on her tightened reflexively at her words.

"No." He said patiently, a hint of humour in his voice. "I think we've fairly well established this isn't one of my dreams."

"Maybe it's one of mine." She looked at him seriously for a moment. "Outside this room I'm still dead, unless you count Colin and no one will." She was smiling slightly and he wasn't sure he liked the look in her eyes. She broke his gaze. "I don't know what to do."

"Whaddya mean?" He was worried and it showed in his voice. She said nothing and he became uncomfortable in the silence, feeling he was being forced to break it. "You know what you're going to do." Irritation that masked a deeper hurt bubbled to the surface. ''Go back to the newspaper, start all over again. Rebuild your very own little empire and never mind anyone stupid enough to love you!" His eyes stung with tears and he swiped at them with his hand, fighting for some sort of control. She was looking up at him, anger and hurt and a little bit of fear all mixed together in her gaze. Her head still lay on his chest and he was sure she could hear his heart going at trip hammer pace. He was expecting her to snap back at him, to follow the ingrained pattern for their arguments. Instead she was quiet long enough for him to look down again and check she was still awake. She was letting the silence stretch again and he shifted his arms to prompt her.

"Is that what I want to do?" She asked, sounding lost. He sighed, exasperated.

"I can't tell you that, only you can."

His worry and irritation were being replaced with a nagging sense of fear; she only sought his guidance when she was in danger of losing herself. He was surprised when he heard a give a half hearted snort of laughter.

"And I'm hopelessly confused already." She murmured, more to herself than to him. He understood the reference instantly, he had after all spent many months of his life searing every second of that conversation onto his brain. Apparently, so had she. Finally she sat up, moving away from him and crossing her legs. She kept her eyes downcast and seemed to be watching her hands move even as she spoke. "I can't quit the paper." He felt his stomach drop.

"Well I guess that's finally that then..." He began but she held up a hand to cut him off, raising her head to meet his eyes.

"I can't quit, because the second I walk into the room to do it, I'll become obsessed again. That's who I am Spike, it takes a lot to knock an obsessive off."

"You nearly died! Wasn't that enough?'' He felt the anger surging back again.

''Yes, I think it was." She said thoughtfully. He looked at her, startled. She was chewing her lip, the way she always did when she was nervous. His gaze softened and he reached for one of her hands, stilling it and wrapping it in his own.

"I think I'm missing the 'but' here." He said softly. She offered him the ghost of a smile.

"First time for everything." His grin flared briefly in return. "I can't quit Spike, I can't fail like that." She caught his look. "Yes I know it's crazy. But frankly, if you're still expecting me to be sane you've not been paying attention."

''I know.'' He sighed. "I'm sorry Lynda, but there's no way this can be easy." She nodded.

"It can be easier though." Her voice had regained a lot of its strength. She squared up her shoulders. "I'm leaving the paper. But I'm not going to quit."

"What are you going to do then?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Disappear into thin air?" She was still looking at him steadily. "Oh no, you cannot be serious." He paused for a moment, the idea flooding his brain. "You're not going to tell them you're alive are you? That's psychotic. You're psychotic." She had dropped her eyes.

"You keep telling me that." She said. He took a deep breath and tried reason, because hope springs eternal.

''What about the news team? How do you think they'll feel?" Her eyebrow rose and he knew he had made a mistake.

"Let's see," her voice had picked up the same tone it always did in an argument when she was stalking a win. "Julie will re-cover my chair with something hideous and call it her own. Colin will sleep easy for the first time in four years, and then he'll bankrupt the paper. Frazz? Frazz is probably preparing my effigy right now, just in case the fire didn't finish the job." She breathed out slowly. "The rest of them will take three deep breaths, put up a plaque and get on with their lives thinking it couldn't have happened to a nicer person."

"You're not being fair on them. What about Tids?" Lynda allowed the point with shrug.

"She'll miss me." She admitted "but she'll be in a distinct minority."

"They don't hate you that much." He said, but the words sounded odd even as he spoke. The smile she offered was fond in return.

"Yes they do. But you love me so you try not to notice."

"What about your Mom then? And Sarah and Kenny? Are you really going to just swan off and leave your mother thinking you're dead? 'Cause I'll tell you something Lynda, leaving without a word is about the worst thing you can do to a person."

"Yeah, at least you always let me know in advance." She shot back and bizarrely he suddenly felt better, normalcy reasserting itself. He also realised that she was still talking. "...Of course I'll tell them. Who do you think I am?"

"Someone who fakes their own death."

"I'm not faking it. It's just a happy co-incidence." He was silent for a few moments, genuinely speechless. He noticed he was still holding her hand and dropped it, overwhelmed by the enormity of what she was suggesting, terrified because it was beginning to make deeply twisted sense. He wondered just how selfish he was being and had to remind himself that she had suggested this. When he had dropped her hands she had begun to watch him warily, waiting for him to hurt her. He sighed and closed his eyes, scrubbing a hand through his hair and weighing up the options. He couldn't lose her, if he was in love with her up to his neck at eighteen he was in well over his head now. But could he lose everything else? God knows he had moved around enough in the last few years, but never like this. He wasn't sure he could do it, but he knew he couldn't lose her again; tonight had branded that fact onto him. He opened his eyes, she was still watching him but her face had begun to set hard, working her way up to defending herself against him. He returned her gaze steadily for a moment, preparing himself for what he was about to do. Suddenly he reached for her, pulling her to him roughly enough for her to emit a small yelp of protest. He held on, reminding himself what he was gaining before he spoke.

"So where are we going?" He felt her stiffen slightly, and then she twisted in his arms to look at him.

"Are you serious?"

"Are you?" She nodded. "It can't last long you know." He said gently. "You'll still be listed as a missing person, if you use your passport they'll track us down." She nodded again and he knew all this had already occurred to her, she wouldn't be Lynda if it hadn't.

"It'll be long enough." She said, "besides when my miraculous resurrection occurs, no one's going to care I left some newspaper."

"Miraculous resurrection? I knew you always wanted to be God.'' He grinned at her and lay back, settling her more comfortably on top of him. "That is of course, if you're not already sending him memos."

"Shut up Spike." She thumped his chest and tried to get up but he just held on.

"Mind you, I haven't seen him at a team briefing. D'you think he'd just send an angel or would he not dare?" This time she did escape his grasp but only to pause with her face inches from his. He felt his breath quicken and whatever he was going to say died on his lips. He could still smell smoke around her and the smell, her proximity and the decision they had just reached made his heart constrict in three directions at once. "I had a really corny line about the angel you know." He managed at last. She leant towards him and the last of her words he felt as much as heard.

"I said, shut up Spike."

Later, much later he lay with her curled up against him, more at peace than he had seen her since the night he had returned from his father's funeral.

"Is this still going to seem like a good idea in the morning?'' He mumbled into her hair. She opened one eye sleepily.

"It is the morning. Does it still seem like a good idea?"

"Good, no. Necessary, yes.'' He fell silent and her breathing was just beginning to become regular when a thought struck him. "You still haven't told me where you want to go." She opened a single eye again.

"I want to see Kenny." She murmured and he nodded, he wanted to see Kenny too. He wanted her to see Kenny even more.

"After that?" She shrugged and the rub of her bare skin across his chest made him shiver.

"Home. With you." It took him a second to catch on to her meaning; his home, not hers.

"You want to go to the States?" The idea filled him with a strange sense of elation, somewhere between the incredulity and the small dose of fear. "Lynda, you are aware America is full of Americans right?"

"So? I made you civilised; I'll just have to go at them one at a time." He chuckled despite himself.

"I wonder if taking you to America could get me classed as a terrorist." He murmured half to himself. She must have heard him, but her shoulders merely shook with silent laughter.

"Besides which," she continued after a moment "it makes sense, you have citizenship there and it will make it easier." For a brief moment the only idea more insane than the one they were discussing flitted across his brain but he stamped down hard on it. Get her on the plane first, worry about the rest later.

"You've finally managed it y'know." He said quietly, she was drifting off again and her answer was laced with a dreamy distance.

"I manage everything eventually. What, by the way?" He smiled into her hair and pulled her closer to him, basking in her warmth.

"This is insane and we're really going to do it. You've finally managed to drag me completely into your psychotic little world." She was smiling; he didn't need to see her face because he was more sure of it than he was of his own name.

"Don't be stupid Spike, I did that the first day you met me."

There was no answer to that really.

She wasn't smiling in the grey morning, even as the sun burnt the mist from the ground. She looked faintly impatient, but when he held out his hand she took it willingly.

"Ready?" He asked. In return he got a faint flash of a rueful grin.

"Pretty prepared for a corpse." If his grip tightened slightly she ignored it. "You?"

"As I'll ever be."

"I love you." He almost stopped in his tracks at that, but settled for sending her a startled look. "What?" She asked with a pout. "You're leaving the country; it's traditional for me to make some sort of commitment."

"But you're coming too."

"Honestly, you complain I don't say it enough and then you complain when I do!" He sighed and mused that it was amazing what stayed the same even when the whole world was changing.

"I love you too. Let's go." He tugged her gently but she pulled him back to her and brushed her lips briefly across his. The look in her eyes was one he understood clearer than anything she had ever said. "Yeah I know, me too." He murmured softly. Then he began the walk through the trees that would take them to the bus, to the train, to the airport. As he walked he entwined their fingers more firmly and she fell into step with him with an ease that spoke of long practice.

The sun had just cleared the horizon when Spike and Lynda left the old world for the new.


End file.
